


Found Every Reason to Lay or Lie

by FeoplePeel



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe - Circus, Carnivale AU, Dark Fantasy, Ferris Wheel Flirting and Caravan Smut, Found Family, Great Depression, M/M, Minor Character Death, Other: See Story Notes, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-09-13 21:45:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9143455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeoplePeel/pseuds/FeoplePeel
Summary: “But you still want my life story.” Credence says, too close to curiosity for Graves’ liking. He prefers accusation.“You keep that sort of thing tucked in your back pocket, Barebone.” He leans forward to tuck his cigarette behind the kid’s ear. “Whoever you were? You leave that person behind.”





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [writingramblr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingramblr/gifts).



> Fic inspired by [writingramblr's](https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingramblr/pseuds/writingramblr) amazing [graphic](http://sozdanie-gryazi-eternal.tumblr.com/post/155132981905/gradence-water-for-elephants-au-version-2graphic) (follow to see the original post). She made it for Water for Elephants (which I have not seen) but it sent me careening back into my Carnivale obsession so here we are. No need to have seen Carnivale to understand what's going on, but there are references for those who have.
> 
> I chose not to use archive tags because, while I don't believe this work falls directly into any of the listed categories, others may beg to differ. For purposes of clarification, I've listed these below:  
> -Graphic Depictions Of Violence--tagged for aftermath of violence. Nothing too explicit, but heed this if you're squeamish.  
> -Underage--Credence is 19 when his relationship with Graves begins, but there are scenes where he is sexualized at age 18. While not underage, if this age difference makes you uncomfortable, do be aware.
> 
> Thank you and enjoy!

"You bring us a new mouth to feed?”

Queenie circles her arm around the boy, who can't have outgrown his teens, and draws him in like a scarf.

“I'll pay for him,” her tone is defensive and he knows he's lost. No fighting a Goldstein when her dander’s up. “I'll work the back an extra night.”

“You sort that out with the other girls,” Graves says with a wave, “either way he's gotta meet Management.”

“I know that!”

Queenie steers him towards her own cart and the boy turns back to look at him. He ain't awful looking for a half-starved runaway. Too bad this life's going to beat whatever pretty’s left out of him.

“All right, folks,” Graves throws the last of his tools into the back of the caravan. “Let's shake some dust.”

* * *

The first time Graves properly meets Credence Barebone is after they've crossed state lines into Kansas. He's finished rolling his cigarette and Credence is looking at it like it's something magical, so he offers it to the kid instead. Credence tries it and chokes and there's his first question answered; he obviously ain't a smoker.

“You settling in?” He asks, taking a drag and pulling off what tobacco clings to his tongue. Queenie's better at rolling these than he is.

“A-all right,” Credence lifts a shoulder. He's lying and he's bad at it. Graves ignores the politics of their camp for the most part. Each section looks out for their own and Credence falls into a strange gap, working wherever they need him and usually doing a poor job of it. Scamander and the Goldsteins seem to be the only people he enjoys keeping close to.

“How old are you?”

“Twenty.”

“Liar.” Graves laughs, dust tickling his throat.

“...eighteen.” Credence admits like it's some great sin.

“You run away?”

“You ask a lot of questions, sir.”

“No one out here's a sir, boy.” Graves taps off the end of his cigarette. “I just have a burning curiosity if you're the type of kid some mother's going to send a village after. We're good at fighting but I don't enjoy putting out fires, if you catch my meaning.”

“No one chasing me, s--” Credence stops himself short. “Graves.”

“Management ask you all this?”

“Management…” Credence gets the same glazed look everyone who comes into contact with Grindelwald does. “Don't talk much, does he?”

“Only when it's important,” Graves hears the grind of an axel that sounds just this side of wrong and stands to follow the noise. “He gave you the all clear, that's good enough for me.”

“But you still want my life story.” Credence says, too close to curiosity for Graves’ liking. He prefers accusation.

“You keep that sort of thing tucked in your back pocket, Barebone.” He leans forward to tuck his cigarette behind the kid’s ear. “Whoever you were? You leave that person behind.”

* * *

Credence does a good job keeping his head down through Kansas and he's got enough form to dance with Queenie and the girls though it's usually for a laugh. _No one's_ laughing when he dresses in that fancy, colorful silk getup and brings in noticeably more women and more money than all of them combined.

Graves had watched him practice the whole routine with Queenie. He doesn't blame a one of them.

“I know Christian women,” Credence counts the dollars out of the hat on the ground, hair tied back now and the red on his cheeks more from exertion than embarrassment. “My Ma was a preacher.”

“Didn't know they let women preach.” Graves makes a show of fixing the rigging of the tent. He knows some of the girls stay after for extra cash but he doesn't know if Credence has made that connection yet.

“She made her own church.”

“Ah, an entrepreneur.”

“Second Salemers.”

“Them witch burners up in Boston?” Graves heard from Tina that Queenie had found Credence stealing from some general store in Oklahoma. “You ran pretty far.”

“Ma weren’t my real folks.” Credence tucks the bills into the sash of his pants--hands a few to Graves, for what he doesn't know but he's not going to turn them down--and pulls out a worn-looking sheet of paper. “I have family somewhere out in California. This man wrote me.”

“Albus Dumbledore,” Graves reads painstakingly slow, the arranging of the letters unfamiliar to him. “Never heard of him.”

“Management knows him. Says he's looking for him too.”

“So what? You hitching a ride?” Suddenly Graves isn't so interested in this rigging over their heads; in protecting Credence Barebone, this _temporary_ piece of their moving family. But then Credence’s eyes widen and...he's just so young.

“I thought if I could help Management, I could stay on--”

Graves cuts him off with a held up hand and a put-upon sigh that's mostly for show. “What did I tell you, Barebone, about that life story of yours?”

“Keep it in my back pocket, sir, leave it behind?” He winces at the last.

“I also told you not to call me sir.” Graves folds the letter up with more care than he means and presses it against Credence’s bare chest. Credence brings his hands up and the red along is cheeks time is for another reason entirely.

“Yes, sir.”

Graves turns with a loud laugh. “Slow learner, ain't ya?”

* * *

Credence hasn't been around long but he's made nice with enough folk that there's a sizable group to wish him a happy birthday. The Goldsteins, of course, and Queenie's piece, Kowalski, who keeps them booked and likes just about everybody. The twins and Penelope--their Bearded Lady--and Newt Scamander with his snakes and bugs. Credence likes the strange animals and their stranger handler; Scamander tells him stories of big cats and dogs, animals not allowed in their tents since Newt arrived which, to Graves’ mind, is a good thing. Bigger animals means bigger stomachs.

Graves isn't a heavy spender but he's got two dollars in his pocket and one of those is going to Lou for booze. The other he gives to Kowalski for a chunk of chocolate the size of his fist and a pop to down it with.

Credence finds him in the top car of the ferris wheel the last hour of his first day as a nineteen year old. He's gotten good at climbing it, though not so good that Graves doesn't hold his breath every time his hand catches the next beam.

“Thanks for the chocolate.” He says, settling in next to him and mimicking Graves’ posture--unspooled with his feet perched on the hood of the gondola.

Graves raises the clear bottle between them in a toast, lets the harsh liquid burn down his throat. He jolts in surprise when Credence swipes it from him and takes a long drink for himself, the bob of his Adam's Apple seemingly more painful than seductive.

Graves reaches across the small gap to wipe away the shine from his lips, thumb settling at the corner of his mouth. Credence’s eyes are wide and almost inhuman with the moon in them. And they're focused right on Graves’ mouth, his own slack where Graves’ thumb still rests. Graves leans forward, pulls Credence’s face down to his chest and kisses his forehead like a well-behaved child.

“Happy birthday.”

Below him he can feel Credence laugh. “Cheater.”

* * *

It only takes one go in Tina’s booth to know that's where Credence ought to stay.

Tina had always been bad at Tarot...or too good, truth be told. And she _would_ tell the truth. Accurate readings were Tina’s game and no one wants to hear their granny's gonna die or their crops are gonna fail...again.

They like the lies. It's why everything stops when the circus comes to town.

So Graves convinces Tina to teach Credence enough of the cards to keep him out of the hooch tent and away from the heavy lifting while Tina goes and helps Scamander with the animals.

"I learned this from church too,” Credence rearranges the deck, looking a little more guilty and a lot less exerted after a day of superstitious old men and young women with idyllic, romantic notions. “There was a popular preacher, Pastor Lowman, that Ma warned us away from, after the Crash. He had the nicest, most hopeful messages.”

“I've heard him on the radio.” Graves smiles from across the table, the fabric covering it between his fingers is a fake silk but beautiful and fine feeling nonetheless. “Can you believe that? People wake up in this world, turn on a knob and believe whatever garbage comes out of a box?”

Credence’s laugh is weak, his eyes on the table and its fine, fake fabric, and Graves thinks: _Oh._

“Read me,” Graves pulls a card from the deck and sets it down, not caring if it's turned the way he needs.

“Really?” The corners of his lips lift, whatever strange mood from before now dispelled.

“Go on.”

“Well,” Credence doesn't bother looking down, his eyes crawling along the walls and ceiling as though they have some answer for the question he's asking. Until finally, almost vapidly, he says, “ _Obviously_ you're going to find love in an unexpected place.”

“Love,” Graves whistles, “that's a tall order.”

“Maybe not love,” Credence stands, making a show of putting the cards to one side before he's there, next to the arm of Graves’ chair. “The cards have many interpretations.”

“So not love then? Maybe…”

Graves snakes a hand out so fast Credence is half-falling into his lap, but he settles into the situation quickly, swinging his leg over and draping his arms across Graves’ shoulders. Graves holds his eyes and the back of his head, tugging the long strands of hair there until Credence’s neck is laid out for his teeth to edge along its veins carefully, down to the hollow of his throat. There and back up, biting, fingers pressed deep into his hips while Credence’s scramble along his back and up into his hair.

Credence sighs into his mouth and Graves, who’s already so hard it hurts, has to keep himself still beneath him no matter how Credence presses down against his thigh. One more sound like that and he'll be--

“I like it when you pull my hair,” Credence speaks across his bottom lip, “just a little.”

Graves tugs, unthinking, and Credence opens his mouth, gasping at the ceiling, legs spreading wider and curling around his hips, pressing them together more closely. Graves resists the urge to kiss him again, to move at all--afraid of how he might come undone--then he doesn't, loosening his grip and pulling Credence forward as he pushes up in an agonizing grind.

Credence presses his face into the juncture of Graves’ neck when he comes, the jerk of his hips subsiding into lazy waves of motion before he pulls back to hold Graves’ face between his palms.

Maybe it's that he finally let go, but Graves’ own idyllic, romantic self likes to think that the half-smile Credence shoots him as he traces his cheekbones with his thumbs is what does him in.

Somewhere between the chair and the floor, they manage to negotiate their way out of soiled jeans and into a heap of exhausted limbs. This is how Tina finds them, not long after, and chases them out of her cart, half-naked and laughing. It's not love, but there's something entirely lovely about it.

* * *

They get a radio in Utah and Graves keeps an ear out for Lowman’s voice, just in case.

What he hears, instead, is another branch of the Second Salemers out in Oregon.

“Shut that shit off, would you?” Graves flicks his cigarette towards the box.

“Need to know what we're up against, Graves.” Kowalski has the decency to look apologetic, especially when Queenie leaves to follow a suddenly pale Credence away from the group.

Graves wants to go after Credence too, but Management finds him first.

“Barebone said we’re making for California, Gellert. That's a straight shot through Nevada. Wanna tell me why it's better, heading up through Idaho and Oregon?” He speaks to the darkness behind the curtain. Grindelwald doesn't respond and Graves sighs. “All right, but I don't know how to explain it.”

 _Less attention, more desperate people,_ is the lie he sells to the group. He thinks they believe it enough to keep moving through another barren stretch of land.

“We go where Management tells us.” Is all he says to Credence.

“Graves,” Credence grabs his arm. “Percival,” Graves stares at him hard. He's never heard Credence use his Christian name, not in bed nor outside it. “My Ma’s up there, I know it.”

“You don't,” he takes his arm back and settles it around the tight line of Credence's shoulders. “Oregon’s a ways from Boston, maybe she ain't made it this far out.”

“I can feel it.” He leans his forehead against Graves’ own and closes his eyes.

“She ain't gonna look for you here.” Graves moves his hand to cup the back of his head. “And if she does, well...witches will be the last thing she's cursing.”

* * *

Gellert calls Credence in for a talk in Idaho and where Graves used to be _no questions asked_ , he's now burning with curiosity.

“I think we should leave,” Credence tells him that night. Curled up in the back of the truck, he says like he's just thought of it. “You and me.”

“You wanna leave Queenie? And Tina and Newt?”

Credence rolls over, splays his hand across Graves’ chest. “I hadn't thought about that.”

“Something you wanna talk about?” Graves ventures because something feels wrong all over.

But when Credence looks up at him, still so young, he only smiles. “I think I love you.”

Graves pushes the top of his head until he's settled again. “Ah, that ain't nothing to talk about.”

* * *

Graves never sees all of Mary Lou Barebone in Salem, Oregon, and he blames Management--Gellert Grindelwald, the son of a bitch who sent him into town--for that.

He sees her hair in the gear turns when he's cleaning off the evidence. He sees the char marks her church left. He sees Newt’s snakes, dead in their cages.

He sees the blood on Credence’s hands when he closes his eyes.

“We had a plan,” Credence finally comes to him after two weeks of awkward eye contact and questions passed through the lips of others. “Management...had a plan.”

“He always does.” And for the first time in a long time, Graves is more angry than curious. Wants to kick some heads more than blindly obey.

Credence is still staring at him with worried eyes and hands as dirty as his. Graves strokes his cheek with the back of his fingertips and watches his expression visibly lift.

“All right folks,” he pulls away and walks to the front of the crowd. “Let's shake some dust!”

* * *

It’s no surprise when Newt leaves at the border of California. He hadn't been the same since Salem. It's more surprising when Tina follows. Queenie has her husband, yes, but the Goldsteins are a pair in Graves’ mind. How long until Kowalski and she…

Graves lays back in Tina's abandoned caravan that night and lets out a breath he didn't know he had been holding until Credence slides under the quilt beside him.

“Maybe you had the right of it, Credence.”

“Hm?”

“Everyone's leaving.”

“I'm here.” He says, pressing in closer as though needing to prove it.

* * *

They drive the truck the short distance to Sacramento to an overgrown lawn and an empty house. If Albus Dumbledore was here he's long gone now.

Credence is as close to angry as Graves has ever seen him. Grindelwald is angrier.

"Why would he lie to me?” Credence throws the letter into the cooking fire that evening at camp.

Graves thinks of the way Kowalski tripped out of Management’s caravan, pale and followed by shouting like he's never heard, the steely resolve in Queenie’s eye from across the camp. He wraps an arm around Credence and thinks the burning letter may have never been about him at all.

* * *

Graves catches Queenie outside the hooch tent before she can scurry through the dark back to her own.

“This about Jacob?” She plants her arms on her hips. “You know no one can say what happens under Management's roof. Not even to their kin.”

“You gonna tell me what I don't know?” Graves has never repeated anything Grindelwald said to him, beyond a change of direction, and he's not been too _pleased_ with those. He imagines no one else will. Sometimes he leaves Management's caravan with a hazy feeling over his mind and a slowness to his steps that he can't explain--he's often wondered if Grindelwald puts something in the water.

He offers his over-shirt to Queenie and she turns it down with a shake of her head. “Still too hot.” She fans below her neck. “What do you want then?”

“Scamander and your sister,” he tucks his shirt back into the belt of his jeans. “You know where they went.”

“Might,” she taps her fingers against her skin. Graves offers her his tin of tobacco and paper, this time, and watches her roll a cigarette expertly. They stand near one another in silence, two topless people sharing a smoke under the big top.

“They asked me and Jacob to come, but I couldn't leave Credence. And he wouldn't leave you because he's stupid in love.” She says, half-accusing, half-fond.

Graves passes her the cigarette. “Did Credence know it was Dumbledore they were running to?”

“No…” she speaks slowly. “Don't think he even knows they had a plan except ‘drive’. How did you?”

“I'm a slow reader, Queenie, but I'm good at math.”

* * *

Credence isn't a fighter but he knows how to throw a punch. Graves finds this out when they catch one of the more sloshed customers trying to stay longer than he ought to after the girl’s show with no money in his pockets. Graves considers stepping in when Credence gets a bloody lip for his trouble but the split only seems to infuriate the kid.

“Where would you go if you left?” Graves brings him a bag of ice for his swollen lip. The other guy definitely had it worse.

Credence presses the ice against his lip with a hiss then smiles wide through the pain. “Oklahoma was nice.”

“Oklahoma?” Graves laughs. “You've been there. You don't want to try somewhere new?”

“I haven't been to Oklahoma with you.”

“I asked where _you_ would go.” Graves says, fondly but firmly because this part's _important._ Beyond whatever business Management has up his sleeve tonight was one in a series of events that showed their time here is coming to a swift close.

“Oklahoma,” Credence repeats, rests his hands on Graves’ chest and his chin on the back of his hands. “I’d take you with me.”

Graves gives him a flat stare and he relents with a sigh. “Boston maybe? Might be nice now that Ma’s...gone.” He coughs, shifting the pack. Graves shivers at the feel of the ice through his tee shirt but says nothing. “Where are you from?”

“Mississippi.”

“We could go back there.”

“What's all this _we_?”

Credence punches the soft spot between shoulder and breast, and Graves pretends it hurts more than it does. “Who taught you how to fight?”

"Tina. Jacob, a little,” he shrugs. “Ma used to hit us. You told me to leave all that stuff behind but it don’t mean I have to let anyone else take a swing at me.”

Graves can't help but laugh at that, in the way you laugh at ghost stories to keep yourself sane. He moves the ice pack to lick the copper from his lips.

* * *

Graves is good at math so he knows when Queenie and Jacob take whatever caravan and leave, Credence needs to be on it. He doesn't know exactly how the ending will play but he’s worked out enough since Oregon to know that it isn't safe for Credence with whoever that false family man, Dumbledore, was and it isn't safe here, with Management looking over his shoulder. Whatever score needs settling between those two can stay there and leave the boy out of it.

Had Tina still been here, he would know it would go something like this:

Albus would find Credence somehow, and would try to murder him for hitherto unknown reasons.

 _Try_ to. Queenie would shoot first.

They would go to Management for answers and answers they would get--none they would like. Endless warfare, Light versus Darkness, Prophets and Princes.

And Trinity would never detonate over New Mexico, lighting every peak, crevasse, and ridge of the nearby mountain range with a clarity and beauty that cannot be described but must be seen to be imagined.

None of that happens. Queenie gives him the signal when they make Colorado, Graves slips Credence some of the sleeping medicine Scamander left behind, and drops him into the middle of Kowalski’s truck seat, settling the quilt over his knees.

“You gotta come with us,” Queenie is tearing up before she speaks like she knows it's no good asking.

“She’s right, there's nothing left here, Graves.” Kowalski leans over the cab of the truck. “Trust me, I do the booking.”

And Graves doesn't know when he started having people caring for his well-being but it probably has something to do with the kid in the middle of the seat leaving with his favorite jacket.

“Can’t,” he shrugs. “Sorry.”

“Catch us up,” she pulls him in for a tight hug. “Please?”

“Yeah we don't know nobody out in Boston.” Kowalski’s wink is a little too obvious. “Gotta stick together.”

* * *

Graves waits four days to tell Management. Two days could be a trip, three could be lost and found, but four?

“Looks like more deserters, Gellert.”

The curtain moves and Graves meets Grindelwald’s eyes without blinking. After a moment he sighs.

“He will be back. Albus could not protect me from what I was.” His voice is low and raspy, not from the dust alone, but the recycled oxygen in the caravan. “Just as you cannot protect Credence Barebone from what he will become.”

Graves takes a seat in front of the vanity, drained. “You're crazy, old man.”

Grindelwald smiles and it's the most disconcerting thing Graves has witnessed on his frequent visits.

“Where are we heading?”

“Mississippi.”

* * *

Credence finds them, somehow, in the town where Graves was born.

“You son of a bitch,” is all the warning he gets before there's a fist what feels like halfway through his face

He can hear Penelope and Lou laughing from across the camp but he's less worried about that as he crowds Credence into what he'll always consider Tina's caravan.

Credence rounds on him as soon as the door shuts. “You sent me out when I was asleep--”

“Where's Queenie?”

“I left them back in Missouri,” he's breathing hard, fists clenched. “Then spent God knows how long chasing flyers for this dying show!”

Maybe because it's been a good few months since he's laid eyes on him, and Credence _looks_ like he's spent it exactly as he said, or maybe some part of him was always waiting for this, but Graves doesn't have the strength to be angry that Credence has wasted his plans, or proven Management right.

Graves steps forward to wind his hands in Credence’s hair and Credence, for probably all the same reasons, lets him. “Sorry I missed your birthday.”

“How could you,” the hiccup between Graves’ palms is the most heartbreaking sound hes heard in his life. “You didn't even say goodbye.”

“Would you believe it's because I'm stupid for you?” He says remembering Queenie's words.

Credence laughs. “I believe you're stupid.”

* * *

Management is quiet for days before he calls Credence in to speak.

The sky is edging into darkness when Graves’ anxiety gets the better of him.

That and he's run out of cigarettes.

The inside of Management's caravan is the same as ever, all reds and not a hair out of place. Except, there, in front of the curtain that no one touches save Grindelwald, kneels Credence, blue blood on his hands and the most forlorn expression on his face.

“You kill him?” Graves asks, surprised at the roughness in his own voice. Management wasn't a friend but he was... _there_.

“I had to.” Credence is still staring at his hands like objects that don't belong to him. “He said that I...”

Graves steps over his legs and looks behind the curtain where there is an ocean of black cloth and no body at all. Graves shrugs off his jacket and kneels to wrap it around Credence’s shoulders.

“Grindelwald,” Credence swallows, redirects. “Management--”

“Just you and me in here, Credence, so...it seems like I'm looking at him,” Graves tilts his chin up and there's a focus to his eyes that wasn't there before. “Got a whole bunch of people out there, Barebone. What do we need to do? Where do we need to take ‘em?”

Graves knows Tina and Newt are with Albus Dumbledore in Boston. He knows because Queenie was headed that way with Credence. It's a fair bet that Credence knows too and he wonders, briefly, how much of Management's business is his now.

Something in his stomach uncurls when Credence points them back to Oklahoma instead.

* * *

Trinity detonates over New Mexico and Credence is too busy celebrating his thirtieth birthday in Oklahoma to notice. They celebrate Credence's fortieth birthday this way, and his fiftieth and so on it goes. They buy a cat that reminds Graves of Newt and even though his cigarettes don't need to be rolled anymore, they make him think of Queenie anyway. The circus doesn’t come through Stillwater, but there’s a state fair every year and, sometimes, when he’s feeling nostalgic, Graves buys them tickets to ride the ferris wheel. And if it happens to stop for a few extra minutes right when they reach the top, that’s between him, Credence, and the teenager working the rigging who might have a few extra bucks in his pocket.

“He can’t be more than sixteen,” Credence says when they enter the gondola and Graves can’t believe the note of _disapproval_ in his voice.

“Kids these days, running away to join the circus,” Graves loops an arm around his shoulders. “What could they be thinking?”

Credence catches on quick, pinching his shoulder and leaning down to kiss the corner of his jaw. “Anyone’s guess, _sir_.”

**Author's Note:**

> The lighting of the bomb against the mountains of New Mexico was a direct observation taken from the field report of Thomas Farrell, the Deputy Commanding General and Chief of Field Operations of the Manhattan Project.
> 
> If you’re into the Carnivale aspect:  
> Avatars of Light: Gellert Grindelwald, Credence Barebone, Harry Potter  
> Avatars of Darkness: Albus Dumbledore, Tom Marvolo Riddle


End file.
